The Humbled Master

Jorun did not return to his own workshop.

The tools in his hands felt alien, not extensions of his will but blunt instruments. He walked through the market, the familiar scent of sawdust and resin failing to comfort him.

He was not looking for flaws, for the tell-tale signs of inexperience he had once so eagerly sought. He was looking for Kesh.

He found her not in the main hall, but in a small, dusty annex, surrounded by half-finished pieces that seemed to pulse with a life of their own.

She looked up, startled, as the old master entered. Her hands, stained with pigments and sap, tightened around a small, oddly shaped piece of wood.

“Teach me,” Jorun said, his voice raspy with a humility he had never known. “Teach me how to listen.”